Touch
by sunsolace
Summary: Curled against Kaidan's back, Shepard decides this is one of the nicest hotel beds she's ever slept in. Shenko. Part 2 of White and Red.


Curled against Kaidan's back, Shepard decides this is one of the nicest hotel beds she's ever slept in. The man's a furnace, his body heat chasing away BC's chill. He'd wanted to spend some time at home and Shepard's only preference had been his company, so here they are. It's been a long time—longer than she'd thought, certainly—since she's slept planetside.

The darkness is a second blanket, softer than the one spooled around her waist, that wards off the worries that have no place in her head while she's on leave.

Shepard draws back enough to run her fingers over the dip of Kaidan's shoulder, trace a path down his spine. Here they are, against all odds, and he's all hers to touch. Kaidan isn't the most muscular of men, but she's spent enough time around soldiers to recognise the pragmatic strength in his body. In classic Alenko fashion, function outweighs form, when there's no purpose for useless muscles just for show.

It's strange, really, to feel the solid bulk of another human being sleeping beside her. All the little sounds, from rustling sheets to soft breathing, prick at her ears. After a string of poor life choices in her youth, Shepard has eschewed romantic entanglements since joining the Alliance. Guilt worms its way through the back of her mind, reminding her of the regs they've broken together. Repeatedly. But, well, what happens on leave stays on leave.

Maybe Shepard marvels a bit as she drags her hand up to his neck. He's all hers to touch, without having to worry that a crewman will burst through the door and ruin everything.

Kaidan shifts with a soft exhale.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"'S okay."

Shepard traces Kaidan's hairline, curling his springy hair around her fingers. Nestled at the base of his skull, semi-hidden by thick black curls, is the closed jack. He isn't amped now that they're back in the civilian world, with all the baggage it bears against biotics, but earlier she'd spied his amp case in his luggage.

He tenses. Shepard pulls back her hand at once. "Sorry."

"I'm... not used to anyone touching the back of my neck."

"Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll keep my hands to myself."

Kaidan rolls just enough so he can look at her without putting a crick in his neck. His eyes are always warm, even when leached to blue-black in Canada's natural night with only a faint glint of reflected light to confirm that he is watching her. "You don't have to do that. In fact," he adds with an impish, if tentative smile, "I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"In that case..." Shepard leans over to press a brief kiss against his lips. "We have, what, two weeks? Time enough to get used to this, right?"

"Sure," he drawls. "Just long enough to learn to take this for granted, only to wind up back on duty straight after." A pause. "That sounded better in my head."

Unpleasant realities can sleep outside in the cold until Shepard is damn well ready to face them. The proper thing to do would be to admit to their tentative relationship and accept Kaidan's inevitable reassignment. They haven't talked about it yet, but the thought of going groundside without her LT covering her six leaves her as vulnerable as if she ventured out without her hardsuit. Especially after losing Williams.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Burrowing against his side, Shepard drapes an arm over his waist and presses a quick kiss against his shoulder.

Crickets chirp outside the small cabin, a phenomena she hasn't had to deal with since her stint in Rio, and she still hadn't learned to tune out their nightly cacophony. The slick hum of a drive core is an unobtrusive and infinitely preferable companion. Moonlight peeks around the fabric curtains to bathe the room in a soft glow with a similar tenacity to the ever-present light on a warship, able to pervade even the most heavily tinted sleeper pod or slide into her quarters uninvited.

Their breathing mingles in the dark, and the tension drains out of Kaidan as he realises that he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth and ruined the moment. Bless this man but he's predictable like that.

He runs his fingertips down her forearm, gentling when they reach an old scar that slashes over the outside of her arm, near her wrist. His fingers trace a question mark. "I always wondered..."

"Didn't catch that one in the line of duty. Bar fight."

He chuckles. "You rogue."

"Boy scout."

Besides, she isn't the only one with her share of ill-gotten marks. The faint scar on his lip—a souvenir from Vyrnnus, he'd told her—and an old gash on his forearm, but she's learned of the others that usually hide under his uniform. From her position she has unfettered access to him, and she takes advantage of it.

Kaidan's breath catches as she skims her fingers over the knot in his collarbone, indicating an old break. She drags her hand down his chest and drifts to his ribs where she finds similar bumps. From what she's told her of BAaT, they're likely from biotic training. His muscles twitch at the contact and he shifts, unsure whether he wants to retreat or remain.

Shepard lifts her hand and kisses his shoulder. Settling again, Kaidan gently presses her hand down again. With his permission given, she continues tracking the starburst scar cresting over his hip. She'd been there for that one; Williams had barely pushed them both out of the way of an exploding conduit. Then there's the angry pink plasma burns on his stomach. Those she avoids, and not just because they're still tender. They almost claimed his life on Virmire, and that mission is the last thing she wants to think about right now. Maybe after the Reapers and Udina.

Not one to be left behind, Kaidan shifts to take her in from head to toe. Thanks to her rough-and-tumble youth and her N7 status, her body is a map etched by battles won and battles lost. A number of knife and gun scars, white with age, mark her days with the Tenth Street Reds. The cast on her arm has just come off, but it wasn't the only souvenir from Sovereign when he decided to die on top of her. There are a number of scars across her shoulder and riding over her ribs. It's her turn to twitch when he touches the pale, dry skin on her collarbone. Thresher acid.

It's a sober reminder of the fragility of life, how delicate systems are easily disrupted, and yet also how humans surprisingly resilient.

She drags her hand up his chest, teasing the curly hair there, and presses her palm over his heart. Underneath his breastbone, the muted beat of his heart marches. "Kaidan?"

Sensing her sudden seriousness, Kaidan glances back at her again. "Yeah?"

"I know it's not going to be easy, and I know I don't have the right to ask you to stay with the chain of command being what it is, but I want this to go somewhere. I want us to go somewhere."

He rolls so they're facing each other. Catching her hand, he presses a kiss to her fingers. With his back to the window, her lieutenant's face is robbed of its familiarity by shadows, but she suspects she knows what emotion glimmers in his eyes. "Me too, Shepard. Maybe this is wrong by the books—hell, no maybe about it—but…" He cups her cheek, and she never realised how much she missed human affection until she leans into his touch. "A chance like this only ever comes around once in a lifetime."

"As long as you want to be here, I will be too."

"Good to know. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think we had a chance." Kaidan touches his forehead to hers. A marine's intimacy, when hardsuits inhibit proper touch.

Except there are no layers of ceramic plating and regs to separate them now. So Shepard does one better, kissing the tip of his nose then tucking her head under his chin. They shift until they're both comfortable, pressing skin to skin.

This thing between them might be too new, too vulnerable, for a name but that doesn't mean Shepard can't snuggle against Kaidan's chest and listen to his quiet breathing, enjoying such precious human contact.


End file.
